Chapter 3

Lisa's POV 

Eyes the color of liquid honey instantly meet mine in a piercing gaze. For a few seconds, I am captivated by those eyes. By the chiselled cheekbones and sharp angles of his handsome face. By the pale gold hair I tried, but couldn't stop seeing in my dreams. I realize I'm ogling and stumble back, pressing a hand to my lips to hold back a gasp. Why does Damien Reed have to show here, of all places and of all times?!

     "Fancy meeting you here, Lisa. Why do you look like you've just seen a bogeyman?" 

      His voice. Has it always been this growly and… sexy? Like yesterday, I part my lips to say something, anything, even a rebuttal, but my brain has disconnected. Seeing him again out of the blues had stirred the unwanted feelings I shoved under a lid since last year. 

     "What are you doing here?" I finally find my tongue. 

     "Me?" He jabs a finger to his sternum "I'm here to watch a couple tie the knot. And handle loose ends of my last business deal. What are you doing here?" 

      Once again I let myself get distracted by his tall, muscular frame, casually clad in a crisp white shirt that failed to conceal an impressive set of biceps, with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, blue faded jeans and sleek white sneakers. A wristwatch crests at the base of the large hand he dips into a pocket, and I remember that hand splayed on my lower back, pulling me hard against his solid chest…

      I stop that line of thought immediately. Damien gives me an odd glance at first, before his face eases into a knowing smirk. Embarrassment heat my cheeks. He caught me staring! 

      "I… wait what?" A circuit connects in my brain. "You're here for a wedding?" 

      "Yep." He releases an explosive breath. "Just what I said." 

      My insides drop to my pink strappy sandals. It can't be. It certainly can't. "Did another couple perhaps book rooms here?" 

      "I don't know about that. Wade's nuptials will take place here in the hotel.You see, we were teammates in a lacrosse club back in high school." He goes on to confirm what I dreaded the most right now. "And I'm going to be my old friend's groomsman." 

      I screech. And slap a palm over my mouth. Willow yelps her discomfort. 

     "That means you'll be there too?"

     "Where?" Damien tilts his flaxen head to the right. He resembles Keith so much it's painful to look at him. Yet they're so different in more ways than one.

     "At the wedding. I'm here for a wedding too. The same wedding," I clarify. "He's getting married to my aunt." 

     "Your aunt?" He furrows fair brows, perplexed. I bet he imagines a middle aged, matronly silver head hobbling up an aisle. 

      I am reminded why I don't often bring her up in conversations. "She's half a dozen years older," I explain, borrowing Selena's earlier words. "P.S: she's a natural redhead and she's really hot." 

     "Ahh." Damien pinches his nose. "Then she must be the Selena that goose couldn't shut up about. He keeps yapping about his fiancee everytime he gets the chance to. I'm sorry, I didn't know you had an aunt that hot." 

      "We never talked about her. It's okay." We never talked about us either, I didn't add. Afterall, I didn't let him. "Plus, you can't blame a man in love." 

      He responds with a deep rumble in his throat that bubbles up as mirth. I find myself laughing too. His laughter is infectious. Has always been infectious. 

      "Good Lord. It feels like ages, Lisa." He smiles, the corners of his amber eyes crinkling. A full blown smile. Even while I was with Keith, that smile still did funny things to my chest everytime I see it. "I'm really amazed you even spoke to me." 

      I quell the smile that was starting to lift the corners of my mouth. Crap. We shouldn't be talking like this. He's acting like we're old friends. But we haven't been friends for a long time. And old friends should not cross the line. I order my legs to move, to put this door between us. But they are stubbornly rooted to the spot. Part of me still longs for what we once shared, the affinity between us, bonds that still tether me to him. 

      Damien notices Willow, and directs another charming smile her way. She extends tiny ruddy fingers, and without waiting for my approval, he leans in close to clasp his hands under Willow's underarms. He smells the same way he did a year ago in the warm living space of his apartment, of freshly cut Florida grass and spicy notes, when he pressed me against himself on his taupe couch, the proximity of our faces allowing us to share a breath. When he slid soft lips over mine, and planted our mouths together in a brief, scalding hot kiss. 

      I snatch my gaze away and grit my teeth as my treacherous daughter is scooped into his arms. But I am even more furious at my own treacherous heart that raced frantically at Damien's closeness, at the goddamn butterflies dancing in my stomach, at the throbbing arousal down there brought about by the thought of his lips on mine. 

          Willow squeals delightfully as Damien made grotesquely funny faces, looking every inch a father. This could have been Keith, should have been him. 

          " I didn't get to hold her yesterday." He informs. " Funny how I've never held her at all. But I think she likes me." He levels me a stare I can't quite decipher.

         I shrug. And blurt out. "Willow never met her father." I see melancholy cross his mien. I'm glad it isn't pity I see. 

          "You're really cute, you know that?" Damien says to Willow in a distorted voice, and she rewards him with another giddy squeal. He turns to me. "She sure as hell will break hearts when she grows up." His smile is all teeth. He's at it again, acting like we just shared a friendly joke. I hate how I'm straining against my self made leash to ease into the role of a friend. That role I abandoned so I don't get to be with him. So he doesn't have to be mean much more to me. 

          Before I am tempted to reply, I hurriedly pry Willow out of his clutches, despite her rising wail of protest. 

          " Sorry Damien," I administer a dose of sarcasm to the saccharine tone of my voice. "But we gotta bounce. I have a dinner to attend."